The Last Monster of Rapture
by Doshlover234
Summary: Delta and Eleanor, along with their brood of rescued little sisters, have ascended to the surface. After a desperate bid for Delta's survival saves his life, he is forced to try and integrate into the realm of the surface. This is no easy task however, as a man turned living automation has many hurtles to overcome.
1. Rapture was just the Beginning

Here's a new story I plan to make into an exploration on our nature through the eyes of Subject Delta, the main character of my favorite game of all time, Bioshock 2. Please leave reviews to point out any mistakes, as I am uploading this at 2AM and wanting to try and improve my writing style.

* * *

You had done it. Finally. After all the struggles, and the triumphs. Clearing a path across Rapture, meeting and saving some of the last sane inhabitants from their personal prisons. Grace Holloway was the first. Even though she held a grudge that led to your near death more than a few times throughout the trek inside her hotel, you had proven to her that you were no monster, but a man who could let go, and so could she. Stanley was another story altogether.

He was guilty of bringing the fate you now embraced, and the former captivity of your precious girl. At first, you were furious. You stomped with hatred and boiling blood into the control booth, loading heavy rivets to make sure it hurt. Stanley knelt to the ground, pleading for mercy though he deserved none. He looked pathetic, sickening. There was no place for men like him. Not in this world. It had enough cruelty and selfishness rotting it from the inside out. As the finger twitched in anticipation on the trigger, you stopped. Killing him wouldn't undo the past, and if the past hadn't occurred, you may not have had the opportunity to have met your daughter, your Eleanor. You picked him up from his sorry position on the floor, but you did "accidentally" squeeze him a little tighter than comfort allowed before taking the tram to Fountaine Futuristics.

Lastly was Alexander. Poor Alexander. His insane, ADAM warped body and mind was the largest challenge you faced. That, combined with his obvious instability, left little doubt in your mind what needed to be done. You couldn't allow something like that to live, if not for revenge, than for pity and remorse for the man whom was gone forever. You pulled the lever to fill the tank with electricity, but couldn't bear to watch what happened next. You moved away as his screams of pain filled your helmet.

Eleanor had seen it all; every last act of mercy and forgiveness, and took pride in knowing that her father was still a man with heart underneath the pain and scarring. Sophia's bombs had gotten you critically during the escape attempt to the submersible. On the surface, you had seen the sun for what felt like the first time, and what would definitely be the last. Not just the sun on the sky, but your shining star Eleanor's face, radiant even in your darkest hour, her final moments with the father she never had. You closed your eyes, feeling at peace, knowing that you and your other sisters that you and she had rescued along the way would have a chance at life. Sophia's words echoed in your mind.

"_Rapture is the house of monsters. The surface will not have us."_

Perhaps she was right. Your time and your place were over now. You reached out and held a hand weakly to Eleanor's cheek. You couldn't feel the warmth through the thick fabric that served as your diving suit's gloves. Knowing you would never be capable of experiencing or giving a delicate touch was a burden, but not a heavy one. It was hard to think. Your body had begun to shut down completely, both from the protector bond being severed and your massive internal trauma.

"Father, please don't leave me. I need you." Eleanor whispered, her voice muffled in your ears. Tears began to make streams down her cheeks and she stared into the faceplate of her knight in shining armor. The man who had gone through Hell to give her, to give all the little ones, a chance at a normal life. Slowly, the sisters that had been rescued pulled themselves through the hatch to meet with the pair on top of the lifeboat. Twelve had gathered before them, one of which being the girl that you had controlled to help the two of you escape. Eleanor looked to her, and then gasped. The plasmid that let you control her. ADAM was just stem cells. If she could get you enough to get you stable, she might be able to save you. Not wanting to harm the girls anymore, she did the only thing she could think of, and stabbed herself in the abdomen with her Big Sister harvesting needle. The pain was unbearable as the syringe extracted her ADAM and filled up a vial with the glowing red liquid. She keeled over in pain, the needle pulling out, and Eleanor had to fight to bring herself on top of you, barely conscious, to inject the needle through the port in the suit on your hand.

You grunted in pain as the ADAM reassembled your DNA yet again. Even after all the splicing you had done, it never got any easier it seemed. Maybe you weren't addicted because you were more ADAM than human now, and that's why it hurt. Regardless, your mind began to focus again. Your limbs burned and twitched with anticipation and reinvigorated strength. You wrapped your oversized arm around Eleanor's torso and tried to force yourself up. Thankfully, two of the sisters helped you to a sitting position as you cradled the daughter you never asked for, and yet loved more deeply than you could've imagined. You and the girls sat together, in somber silence, watching Eleanor as the last three days sank into your collective consciousness. Minutes ticked by like years, as you watched your precious girl's chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, shifting from agonized to calm in her slumber. The minutes turned to hours, and the setting sun sank into that damnable sea. You weren't bothered by the time, as you had no need to sleep but three hours every five days due to your genetic enhancements. The same could not be said for the girls.

"Daddy, we're tired." one of the girls said.

As if to punctuate her, another former Sister yawned deeply, and a few caught the yawn as well. Without so much as a thought, your body stood up like you were a soulless husk, and nearly ripped the hatch door off in your stupor of decompressing stress and longing for your daughter melded into a single beast. Carrying her down over your shoulder in one arm, you moved into bridal style so you could lie her down on the only bed available in the small boat. Eleanor's eyes wearily fluttered open, and she reached out as if to touch your cheek as you had hers. She looked as if she would leave this cruel mortal coil at any moment. Her skin was pale and dotted with cold sweat and seawater. Her eyes were glazed over, swollen and red from tears. Hair matted and tangled from combat inside her armored helmet. You gingerly placed her onto the bed like a delicate doll, and she softly spoke with what little strength she had, her hand barely connecting with your helmet's neck seam.

"Father, let me see you."


	2. Fresh Face

"Let me see you."

The words were so gentle, and they still managed to daze you. She looked so frail, it didn't seem like the words could've come from her lips. With a wrenching heart, you honored her request. Tearing away the tubes that fed you oxygen from the tank on your bank, you seized your helmet and raised it up to the ceiling.

Removing your helmet, to you, felt like a feat comparable to Atlas holding the world upon his shoulders. It had become your face, the you that was known to everyone. Taking that away felt like stripping yourself of your own identity for the second time. You had no idea what you looked like, and your imagination filled with the unspeakable horrors that splicers whom had less mutilation on the genetic level wore. From behind you, you could hear the other Sisters "Oo"ing and "Ahh"ing at what must've been quite the sight to behold. Fortunately, your darling daughter gazed upon your visage and smiled. It was one that could melt the coldest hearts, one of pure love and acceptance.

"Even your face. The man still shines...past the monster they tried to make you." Eleanor stated. Her eyes closed, and she drifted back to an uneasy slumber.

Those words were the straw that broke you down. Placing your helmet onto the floor, slowly enough to avoid the clanking of metal on metal, you lowered yourself until you were on your hands and knees. You did something then you had forgotten was possible.  
You cried.  
The tears came like a flash flood. The walls you had built came crashing down in that moment. All the horrible, detestable things you pushed away assaulted your memory on every front. Sammy Fletcher and Lizzy, killed by a torpedo for wanting to move on. Tenenbaum, having to watch her creations keep the mad philosophies of not one, but two tyrants going at the expense of the innocent. The girls that you brought back from an underwater prison, back to their families and homes. Sinclair, the man who died at your hands because of his attempts to aid you. For some reason, the thought of Sinclair your mind centered on the most.

Maybe it was because it was you that had to take his life in the end. Perhaps it was because he was a reflection of yourself, and what you once were. What you think was probably the reason, above all, was that Persephone was where your story began as who you are now. You became a Big Daddy because Sinclair held you there, and sold you out for experiments. The clash between the idealized version of the man and the legacy he had left behind conflicted your sense of motivation. In that single instant, you had wondered why you were doing what you were. Were you crawling through that ice-coated vent for mere utility? Revenge against the past? Or was it because you couldn't leave a man who had risked it all to save you to rot in that iron shell, without even his own thoughts and actions? A phrase came to mind that described this sensation: _There is nothing new under the sun._ Truly, there was nothing new under the sea either.

"Daddy, are you okay?" asked one of the sisters, one of the few whom hadn't been watching from a spot around the lifeboat, pretending in vain to be asleep as they watched their pillar of strength collapse. You couldn't respond, even if you found the words. The voice box modification took your voice and gave you the signature moans of your kind. How completely they had wiped you away once again bashed into your consciousness, in the vain hope of making a horrid mix of sentinel and sentry. Still, even this could be put behind you. If you wanted to be there for these girls, you had to move on, and let your past sink below the waves of time.

You wiped your eyes with a massive thumb, the salty tears burning your eyes, dried from the sudden change in temperature and humidity from your new surroundings. You turned to the girl that had asked if you were okay and looked at her, eye to eye. You gave a smile, weak and forced, in an attempt to reassure her. The muscles in your face felt taut from the effort. You can't remember the last time your face ever expressed anything but grimaces of pain. The little sister, that you decided you needed to call something unique, came closer and ruffled your hair as if you yourself were a child before recoiling her hair.

"Your hair is all sticky and gross!" she commented, elicited giggles from some of the other girls. You couldn't help but chuckle along, the sheer innocence of the moment overwhelming the darkness you'd lived in for so long. The sound reverberated through the titanium shell, rattling the ceiling from the baritone sound alone. You held your arms out, and the little...no, her name could be something blunt and curt, like her personality. Abigail? Susan? Fran? Yeah, Fran will work. You held out your arms and Fran fell into them like she belonged there. The two of you embraced for several seconds, before you released your grip and instead lifted her up onto the bed next to your dear Eleanor. Tucking the two of them in, you made a round through the submersible, trying to grab anything you could find to make the nooks the girls found themselves in, and the floor, somewhat more comfortable for their sleep. Regrettably, Sinclair had only planned for one person to be on here, so the pickings were sparse. Only a spare blanket could be found by your rather untrained eyes, and only three girls could fit on it. Shaking your head at your pitiful results, you decided to take a couple of the girls and held them in between your arms. Even though the suit held in heat, it was still slightly warmer than the floor, and softer too.

After what felt like ten minutes, the only sound to be heard of a symphony of soft breaths, and the heavy, labored breathing of your own person. The more you sat there, the more you had wished you'd remembered to put your helmet back on before settling in. Now, if the girls curled up next to you on either side, you were in it for the long haul. Your lungs were tingling from the fresh air that had begun filling them, instead of the recycled air from your old and crusty oxygen tank. You could imagine what your body must look like from all the fighting just these last two, three days? Maybe more? Rapture had very little sense of time. The lack of sun coupled with every clock being broken or the battery dead made time a foreign concept. It didn't help that you weren't at all tired, and couldn't sleep even if you wanted to in that moment.

What kind of future can be found for something less than a man? The thought swirled in your mind, seeking answers fruitlessly in your empty mind, memories vague and lost forever in the sea of ADAM.


	3. Up the Atlantic without a Paddle

Sorry for the wait. I've been writing this during my off periods at work, so I hope the quality isn't suffering due to the change in environment. Please leave reviews and point out any criticisms you notice, as well as your thoughts on how the story should/will progress. The next chapter will feature more than just our main characters, so I plan to make it longer than the other chapters so far.

Eternal Violets: Thanks for the positive feedback. I'll try and keep up the quality and quantity on this project of mine, to really flesh out the man behind the visor.

Merendinoemiliano: I don't plan to make this any sort of Eleanor/Delta shipping. They have a wonderful platonic relationship, it was the heartbeat of the game for me, and taking it away would rip the soul from this story for me.

Enjoy!

* * *

The sun arose through the glass in the lifeboat. Sitting up with the girls sandwiching you had gotten uncomfortable, so during the night, you had managed to adjust into a lying down position. Despite your attempts to think on the past, you found nothing more than what had been revealed during your tromp through Rapture. You had made the decision, however, that if the past was lost to you forever, you needing to set your sights on the future. The future held many promises, but it also had very obvious trials for someone in your _unique_ situation.

For starters, the entire point about your body, to the outside world, being a living diving suit presented as an obvious point of conflict. To make it worse, communication was impossible verbally unless a physician was skilled enough to modify your vocal chords to make human sounds again. If the first two could be circumvented though, things should be a lot smoother. Finding work with your one of a kind set of skills would be no problem, hopefully, and you were sure the parents of these girls would be delighted to have them back once you got to shore. Then, it was just a matter of settling in. Yeah, that was a good start to the whole "living normally" thing.

Once the sun began to shine into your eyes, blinding you and causing your eyes to scrunch up, you decided now would be a good time to wake the girls up. You gently shook the two in your arms awake, and once they had removed themselves from pinning you, you raised yourself from the floor and went throughout the room, gingerly awakening each and every little one. At the end of your spree, you came to the bed, where Fran and Eleanor still lay together, sleeping soundly even with the soft voices of barely awake girls starting to pick up as their minds shook off the drowsiness of sleeping on steel flooring. You moved the two of them from side to side, with seemingly no response aside from Fran cuddling closer to Eleanor. How sweet they were together. You hated to have to end that scene, but you now had it recorded to memory as a consolation prize. You had another idea on how to wake them up. You knelt down onto the floor, and moving your face as close to the side of Eleanor's head as possible, you blew harshly into her right ear. The sudden air pressure change seemed to do the trick, as Eleanor snapped awake, the jolt startling Fran in the process. She heaved a heavy sigh, then her cheeks puffed out like a small child, reminding you of when you used to care for her as your Little Sister.

"Father, why'd you do that? We deserve the sleep after all we've gone through don't you think?" she asked rhetorically. If you could speak, you would've come up with a witty comeback like "I've been sleeping for ten years" or something to that effect. You're not the best at snappy jokes. Instead, you resort to a smug smirk as you help sit her up on the bed.

While Fran and Eleanor are busy combing the knots out of their hair with their fingers, you set about your next task: getting this boat to land. You grab your helmet and raise yourself back up to a standing position. Just as your raise your helmet over your head, you hear a voice from behind you, another one of the former Sisters.

"Daddy, please don't put the helmet on again. You're prettier without it." she pleaded. While that was quite a charming display, you had to ignore her protests and lowered the helm over your face, and set about resealing the oxygen lines on either side of the base. Your large, clumsy hands didn't help with that step, and you eventually had to have another sister, whom you're calling Misty from now on, help handscrew the sealants back on before you tightened them up. You left the pod's interior, as Eleanor and the girls may have wanted some girl time, at least to use the restroom or something.

Standing once more upon the exterior, you stared towards the horizon, the rays of the sun like coveted gold stretching over the waters to brighten the day ahead. Each day brought its work to be done with it. Today especially was no different, not for the likes of you. Somewhere, you had a sensation, an inkling, that there was a phrase for that, some sort of saying lost to the muddied past. No matter. Work needed to be done. You set one foot back into the dazzling waters, shimmering and twinkling with the early morning light, when a thought struck you. _How do I make sure I don't sink back down? I'm much too heavy to float next to the craft while pushing, and there aren't any firm handrails or structures I can use as grips._ Your foot retracted back onto solid steel, and you set your sights on locating something to grip, or at least something to tie to a grip. You couldn't risk losing your girls again, trapped in the middle of the ocean. You paced the circumference of the craft at least twice, and in that time the sun had crept up a few inches, the horizon's color shifting from a deep red to a rich purple. Despite your investigative abilities, you weren't able to hand any feasible grips to the vessel. You sank down to sit on the hull and devise a plan B. Only a few seconds afterward, your ears picked up the sound of a hatch raising away, the rusted metal from the salt squeaking considerably.

A figure in a similarly styled diving suit plopped down next to you. You didn't hear any footsteps following after, so you concluded she came alone.  
"The other girls are playing inside." she stated flatly. Her eyes were glued to the waters, reflecting the lights in their waves, dancing between each crest.  
You grunted in acknowledgement. Man, the whole no talking thing was a real problem. You had the thought of hunting down some paper and pens, but you were almost certain your hands would crush the frail writing utensils near instantly. Besides, you hadn't written in years, and God knows if you even still could write at this point.

Silence enveloped the two of you again for several moments. Eleanor scratched her cheek, then repositioned herself to be facing you. You turned your head lazily, and stuck your arms out behind you to prop yourself up.  
"Father, why did you put that mask back on? You are with family now, _real_ family." she insisted, her hand reaching towards one of the air hoses. "Please, take that off. I want to see your eyes. They...are beautiful."  
You shook your head. You still weren't comfortable with the unknown look of your face. The girls can call it beautiful all they want, but you'd have to be the judge of that. Not to mention you still had a job to do. You shoved yourself roughly up from your lounging position, ruffled Eleanor's hair like when she was little, and plodded over to the hatch to see if there might be a miracle solution inside.


	4. Titanic Revelations

Sorry about the long wait for this. I've been doing things in real life, as well as taking a trip to NYC in order to get the right ideas for the next chapters. Hope this extra long chapter was worth the wait!

* * *

You pushed and paddled the lifeboat, with the assistance of Eleanor, for three days. Since there was little food on board, you had volunteered not to eat anything so that the rest of them could at least take the edge off their nagging stomachs. Eleanor, following in your wake, also abstained from food, and even took to distilling water from the sea so that everyone could at least drink. Your muscles ached, your mind was foggy, and your belly, if it were its own creature, would've torn through your suit with its thrashing. Regardless, you pressed on, and as luck would have it, a cruise ship passed your vessel by.

They loaded everyone onto the boat, Eleanor speaking for the group. She told the crew members that you had engine problems with your custom seacraft, and had been floating for three days. They ushered your group onto the top of the deck, where they gifted to the girls blankets and hot coffee. Some of the little ones, notably one of the girls that you'd mentally taken to calling Bertha, said she was a bit chubby compared to the others, refused the coffee and had it swapped for hot chocolate and marshmallows. You accepted the cup of coffee they offered you, but the fear of exposing your body to these people, who could have your new life ruined before it even began, forced you to simply hold it in your hand. The heat barely penetrated the thick material of the suit. Despite this, the small feeling brought with it a flicker of hope for something new and different. You closed your eyes, to better experience this flame inside.

Though a mere ember, your body felt uplifted. Strong and indomitable. Ready for the next set of challenges that lay ahead for your family. Your mind churned with anticipation, thinking of where you'd be going and what you would need to do, or even could do, once you landed ashore after so long. Maybe you could be a deep sea diver. That seemed natural enough. A security officer, perhaps? Maybe even doing maintenance for machines and electronics. You got enough practice with both in Rapture.

"Hello?" a voice sounded, sending you out of your fantasies with a jolt. The intensity of combat came upon you, until you looked up and saw the face behind the voice. It was a black man, covered in numerous scars and burns. His hair was thinning and grey, with the deep black hair still lining his jaw. He also appeared to be extremely fit for his age, as if he were a bodybuilder that never lost his passion and youth.

"My name is Charles Porter. I was informed by my crew that you were floating in a 'custom vessel', is that correct?" he spoke to you, staring at your visor and squinting with the silent intensity of a clinical physician. Eleanor spoke up for you.

"Hello, Mr. Porter. I-" she began, before Charles held a hand up.

"Please, call me Milton. I get called Mr. Porter on board this ship too much for my liking as it is." he stated coolly.

"Yes, of course Milton. As I was saying, we were adrift and trying to get back to shore. Since he's been without food and for the most part drink for the better part of a week, he's not really up for chatting." she said, only giving half the truth.

"I see. Well, if it's that bad, let's bring him down to the medical deck. Can he walk?"

"Yes, sir. He can."

To prove her point, you forced yourself once more to your feet, handing the coffee cup to Milton. Standing at least two heads taller than Milton, you clamored behind him as he led you down to the med bay. Eleanor opted to stay with the sisters and ensure they didn't feel afraid. As you sat down at the edge of the bed, the frame bowing below your massive weight, you stared up at Milton expecting him to call a nurse or at least attempt to get you to take off your suit.

"I saw that mark on your hand. Delta designation, right?" he observed, with his smooth, deep voice that now took on a sense of sinister intent.

"Yes, I know all about your kind. You were the first successful 'Big Daddy' prototype. As it turns out, I was also the last of your kind. A woman named Brigid, with the help of my Thinker, were able to restore me to the man I was before. For the most part, at least. Only so much surgery can do when your DNA is spliced to hell." he elaborated upon his own story. "I began to run a cruise line solely because of how much money I was able to procure for some of the code for my Thinker, a genius piece of tech. I told myself it was just because I liked to sail, but I had this attachment to Rapture. As if the animal part of me knew that city had more to bring to the surface. Looks like I was right after all."

You couldn't believe it. There were others from Rapture that got out? Sure, you heard rumors of one person saving all the Little Sisters before and leaving with them, but that was all it was to you, a rumor. Could this be that man, the legend, in the flesh?

"I'm sure you want to get out of that suit, Delta. That suit is the only thing standing between you and the life you've sought to make for yourself. The last mark of a man bound to a drowned city. I can help you, but we need to get you back to New York first. I don't want any prying eyes involved in the process. In the meantime, I recommend you eat something. You might be durable, but you're still human. I'll bring you a meal in shortly. Please, take your helmet off and relax. I'll draw the curtain here and inform the physician not to disturb your bunk."

Milton stepped out of the room with that parting reassurance. Having someone that knew about your history, what you are, has stirred up a hotbed of anxiety. It's the same feeling as when you were laying on that table in Persephone, slowly dying and unable to do anything. Milton also claims to be able to cure you, though you don't have any reason to believe him. You don't even know who this man is, or to what extent this cure, if it does exist, will be able to help. Despite all the doubts that poured like a flood into your mind, you had only one lead, one lifeline into this world that you've fought hard to enter. You had no better options but to trust the main, for now.

You disconnected the oxygen tubes once again, the movements still not feeling quite right, and tugged your helmet off with a hiss from the air-tight seal being broken around your neck. Setting the helmet at the foot of the bed, you rub your exposed face, trying to get some sort of mental image of what you looked like. You were still far too scared to look in a mirror, but eventually someone would have to see this in order to cure you. Your sense of touch was stifled, but you could make out your fingers pressing into your skin. Above your left eye, you groaned internally from the rough, hard scar tissue stretching to your forehead. Moving down and to the right, your right cheek reminded you of leather, having been burned by Houdini Splicers over and over again. As you explored the rest of your face, you found so many more wounds. Three cut that never fully healed on your lips, a cleft chin, and your hair, oddly enough, felt smooth and soft, if fragile due to the lack of sunlight and vitamin deficiency., you presumed.

The bay door creaked as it began to open, and you tensed up once more. Through the curtain, you could make out the shape of Milton's face, holding a tray with a thigh of chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob. He placed the tray on the floor and slid it under the curtain for you to pick up in private.

"Enjoy your meal, Delta. One of your groupmates, Eleanor, wants to see you. I'll send her down in twenty minutes." Milton told you before making his way out again.

God, it smelled good. You would've thanked Mr. Porter before he left if you could. Now though, all you could think to do was get your fill of food. Your stomach had gotten the better of you.


End file.
